Weathering the Storm
by Rointheta
Summary: The Doctor and Rose accidentally find themselves in the middle of the one hundred year anniversary of the battle of Canary Wharf. The Doctor's never heard of it, but they've landed right next to a theatre playing a film called Doomsday, which claims to depict the true events of the battle, so they decide to sneak in and watch the film.


_This is the eighteenth fic in my 2013 Advent Calendar!_

**Prompt: **"It looked a bit like C3PO and Salvador Dali had conceived a child together after a night of drunken debauchery." **  
Prompter: **dryadalis**  
beta: **resile

* * *

**WEATHERING THE STORM**

* * *

Something tugs at Rose's toe. She kicks. Something yelps and grumbles. She grumbles too and turns on her side, pulling the covers over her head. Her mattress dips when something crawls into bed with her and tugs the covers down, poking her in the face.

"Rooooose," the Doctor whispers, pressing a finger against the tip of her nose. "Roooooose." He pinches her cheek. "Wake up."

"Go away or I'll bite your finger off."

"You're in a mood." He huffs and lies down next to her on his back, crossing his arms behind his head. "I'm bored."

"Then go on a trip or something."

"I don't wanna go alone. Where's the fun in that?"

"What do you usually do when I'm asleep?"

"Oh, little of this, little of that."

"Yeah? Do that, then."

"But… It's so quiet without you there."

"Are you trying to tell me I snore really loudly? Echoing through the TARDIS. Keeping you company whilst you tinker."

"No…" He sighs and rolls over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. "Why d'you always sleep in your old room when we visit your mother?"

"Because she wants me to."

"This bed isn't very comfortable. Your real bed is much, much better."

She smiles. "Yeah, it is. So why are you feeling sorry for yourself when I'm the one suffering?"

He puffs up his chest as he inhales, holding the breath and furrowing his brow as he thinks. "I'm sure I have a very good reason."

"You understand, right, that even if I would come with you now I still have to sleep eventually."

"Yes. In the TARDIS."

"You really miss me that much?"

He snorts. "I'm bored, Rose. Bored and hungry. D'you know how boring it is to eat on your own? Especially when already bored. Did I mention that I'm bored?"

"Nope. First time I've heard about it."

"Well, I am. I'll have you back in the morning, right in time for breakfast. You can sneak in and your mother won't know a thing."

"Yeah, all right. I give in." She sits up in bed, pushes him out of it and grins when he scrambles to his feet with a pout. "Now get out."

"Why?"

"Because I need to get dressed. Or d'you wanna stay for the show?"

"Thought it was more of a show when someone gets _undressed_," he says. She raises her eyebrows at him; he shoots off a smile. "I'll wait outside."

* * *

.

* * *

After taking a trip to one of their favourite burger joints in the Plándira galaxy, and letting Rose sleep for a few more hours in her proper room on board the TARDIS, the Doctor pilots them to the Powell Estate. She still feels sluggish, but he bounces around the console, shooting her a grin here and a look there every time he pushes a button. The materialisation feels smoother than usual and Rose gives him an impressed smile, applauding when she scoots off the jump seat and walks down the ramp.

She opens the door and freezes, one foot midair, blinking at the sight before her. "Doctor. I think it's safe to say we've missed breakfast."

"Oh? Maybe you better go say goodbye to Jackie alone, then. Don't much fancy being slapped today. Ugh, suppose you'll have to stay until lunch or even–"

"Oh, we've missed lunch."

"Really?"

"We've missed a whole lot of lunches."

He walks up to her and looks out over her shoulder just as a moped hovers past. "Ah."

"Where are we, then?"

"Not sure. Wanna go out and check? I can still have you back for breakfast."

"Yeah, sure."

Right outside, only a few steps to the left of the TARDIS, a statue looms over them. It has a body like a half-melted pepper shaker strewn with bronze balls, long and sleek limbs, and a square robot head with cheeks streaked by black tears.

"God, that's ugly. Looks familiar, though, don't it? Something about the, uhm..." she says, gesturing at it.

"Weeell," he says, tilting his head to the side and inspecting the statue, "if you ask me, it looks a bit like C3PO and Salvador Dali conceived a child together after a night of drunken debauchery."

Rose blinks at him. "Okay… Seriously, though. Don't it sort of look like...dunno, a deformed Dalek or something. Look at those round things. Very Dalek-y."

"Mm. Daleks with the legs of a Cyberman. And the head."

"Oh, my god. No, ta! That's the most terrifying combination of anything ever."

"Yeah, I wouldn't exactly want to…." He whips out his glasses and slips them on, squinting and leaning closer. "There's a plaque here. 'This monument is dedicated to the memory of all who were lost in The Battle of Canary Wharf, 17 July 2007.' Says it was made by famous sculptor Padi Oshodi, who lost his sister that day. Oh, and there's a poem." The Doctor clears his throat. "'No bronze beasts brood over us nor blast their beams of bereavement. No chrome colossi claws into our craniums nor confirm who's compatible for converting...' Oooh, this is bad. This is really bad."

"What?" Rose's eyes flit over their surroundings. "What's bad? They're not here, are they?"

"The poem. _Really_ bad." He stands up straight, tucking his specs back into his pocket and scrunching up his nose. "And I, as a rule, admire any attempt at alliteration and accept it with alacrity; although, the aforementioned–"

"Oh, my god. Shut up." She laughs and bumps their shoulders together; he grins from ear to ear. "July 2007, that's soon for mum… Heard of it, then? The Battle of Canary Wharf?"

"Nope. Never. Think I know how to find out, though," he says, nodding at an enormous round amphitheatre farther down the street.

Banners stretch from the edge of the roof to the ground, advertising the premiere of a film called _Doomsday_ with the tagline 'The true events of the Battle of Canary Wharf'. As far as Rose can see, the banners come in four versions–daleks; cybermen; a young couple; and a pair of 3D glasses–all drawn in a minimalistic style with clean colours and lines.

"Premieres 17 July 2107 at the Powell Theatre. Suppose that's today, then?" Rose says, watching the queue of people move into the amphitheatre. "Huh. That's an awful lot of blonds, though, innit? And a lot of people in brown suits. Brown _pinstriped_ suits... Okay. This is creeping me out."

"Doomsday…" The Doctor heads towards the entrance, forehead furrowed in thought, hands in his pockets. "Why have I never heard of this?"

"Maybe 'cause it's not happened for you yet." She loops her arm around his. "For us."

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Take a proper look at those people, Doctor. We blend right in, don't you reckon?"

"Ah. Nah, that's probably just a coincidence. C'mon! Let's find us some tickets."

* * *

.

* * *

_Doomsday_ claims to be the film of the century and so tragic that the tickets come with a box of tissues. The Doctor and Rose learn that the tickets sold out only a few hours after release earlier that week, so they gain entrance thanks to his psychic paper. On their way to their VIP booth, they stop by one of the many stands to buy roasted almonds and fizzy drinks. The usher gushes about the Doctor's costume, how well-made it is, and how the Doctor even bears likeness to The Nameless Man himself. The Doctor and Rose exchange looks, but don't get a word in and, by the time they've stepped inside their booth, the usher's already rushed off.

"See. Told you we have something to do with it," she says, plopping down on the settee bench placed to give them a view of the whole arena.

The Doctor sits down beside her and props his feet up on the table, tossing a few almonds into his mouth. "I'm not a nameless man. I have a name."

"Dunno. Daleks, Cybermen, doom and gloom. Reckon it makes sense that we're in the mix somewhere," Rose says, picking up a program from the table in front of them. "About the tissues, though. Suppose they've spoiled the ending, then, yeah?"

"Mm."

"Well, let's hope I'm wrong, then." She flips open the program and gasps at the images in front of her. "Doctor," she whispers, hitting him on the arm until he leans in and takes a look. "It _is_ you and me. It really is," she says, pointing at a photo of the two of them standing opposite one another in a white room, and feeling dread rising up in her chest. "This film really is about us. But-but it's tragic! The ending, and-and the tissues and... Oh, my god, the beast–"

"No. It lied."

"But you said! A storm's coming. That's what you said and that wasn't a lie, was it? Oh, god. I'm gonna die. I am. In battle. Soon, too. Just a few months left," she says, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "I'm gonna die and all of these people are gonna watch it. Eating bloody roasted almonds!"

"No, Rose. I won't let that happen. Not ev–"

"Dear audience, may I have your attention, please!" A woman, black hair slicked back and mouth painted pink, strides into the arena, holding her arms out in greeting. "Welcome to the celebration of the one hundred year anniversary of The Battle of Canary Wharf! My name is Lorinne, but most of you are more likely to recognise me like this!"

She whips out a blond wig from under her coat and tugs it on. The crowd breaks out in applause and whistles; Lorinne grins and holds her hands up to signal to them to stop.

"Thank you, thank you. I'm one of the most passionate English Rose cosplayers there is, and last year I won a competition at the annual convention, and was chosen to present this film, this grand love story, to you all today."

"Love story? What..." Rose says, glancing at the Doctor. He wears his neutral mask, but sits leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Lorinne.

"Ten years ago a committee was formed to plan this wonderful event," she says. "At that point we had little to go on, as you all know. Eye witness reports, interviews with people who knew our heroes, some surveillance footage from outside of Torchwood, a few files too corrupted by a little virus called Bad Wolf–"

The crowd bursts out whooping, shouting 'Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf' and punching the air.

Rose fumbles after the Doctor's hand, gooseflesh spreading across her skin. "Doctor…"

"Oi! Want me to finish this story or not?" Lorinne shouts, grinning, and the audience laughs. "We've had enough stories to fall in love with these brilliant heroes, enough to build this amazing fandom. Am I right? You lot are amazing!" she says, gesturing to the audience to increase the volume of their cheers by waving her hands. "We've all come here to celebrate The Nameless Man and his English Rose! The _real_ heroes of the battle. Real heroes and real people. Just like us! They saved the whole world from the Daleks and the Cybermen, saved billions of people, and what was their prize? How did the universe reward them for their selflessness? _That's_ what we're here to find out. We finally have the answers. And I'm not even gonna tell you how many people we had to kill to keep that a secret during the production of this film," Lorinne says and the audience roars with laughter.

She steps to the side, pulls a remote control out of her pocket, and clicks a button. A projection flickers to life in the middle of the arena, and Rose's chest constricts when she sees the Doctor walking across the stage with tired steps, eyes black and lifeless, mouth turned down, shoulders slouching.

"Ten years ago a committee was formed to plan this celebration. Eight years ago they found never before seen footage filmed directly inside Torchwood, from their surveillance cameras. A team specialised in film preservation has spent years working on it and two years ago, they finally succeeded. Kitty McCormack, famous for her adaptations of love stories like _Tristan and Isolde_, _Orpheus and Eurydice_, and _Justin and Britney_–the go-to script writer when you want gut-wrenching angst–was given the material and has created the most heart breaking story.

"Tonight, we finally get to see that film! But don't move up from your seats once the credits roll! Afterwards we'll show you the _real_ footage," she says and a loud hum rolls through the audience. "Yeah that's right! A bonus for all you lovely fans who queued for days to get tickets to the premiere. And you really don't wanna miss that, because there's a line in there, not used in the film, that might shine some light on Bad Wolf and all fan theories surrounding the two words that seem to follow our heroes. But first! Here's the London Philharmonic Orchestra playing the theme live. Keep those tissues ready, and enjoy!"

Lorinne leaves the arena, the projection dying behind her just as the Doctor vanishes from view and leaves an empty, white room behind him. The floor opens up and an orchestra rises from underneath, the conductor already waving his hands and a haunting melody fills the room.

"Doctor, this is our future."

"Yeah."

"Look at my hair in this picture. It's _near_ future. Same length and all."

"Yeah."

"We shouldn't be seeing this, should we?"

"No."

"C'mon then," she says, standing up on shaky legs, but he's unmoving. "Doctor?" She kneels in front of him, hands resting in her lap, and she looks up into his eyes. "As much as I wanna change this, Doctor–and I _really_ do–we can't. We have to go."

His Adam's apple bobs and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but shuts it again, rubbing his face in his palms, dragging out the skin under his eyes. "I need to block these memories."

"All right. Then let's leave and you'll block them and there won't be any reapers, right?"

He leans back in his seat, chin held high. "We're staying."

"But… We can't change it."

"The _Powell_ Theatre, Rose. I think I landed in the right spot, only a hundred years later. The TARDIS brought us here for a reason. She must've. We're staying."

He takes Rose's hand and pulls her up on her feet, wrapping an arm around her and tugs her close when she sits down beside him. She can't afford to ponder what this means, can't waste precious time they have together by mourning something that has yet to happen; so, she snuggles up against him, closes her eyes, and dozes off.

* * *

.

* * *

Rose stirs awake when the Doctor cradles her cheek, thumb touching the corner of her mouth.

"The orchestra just descended. It's starting."

She blinks her eyes open and sits up straight with a yawn, rolling her shoulders and looking out over the eager audience waiting for the film. "Can't believe we've got a cult. Or fandom or whatever."

He pulls back to look at her, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Silver lining?" She forces out a grin, but it softens into a genuine smile when his mouth curves up, eyes sparkling at her. "No one else from the Estate has a fandom. Reckon I'm sorta cool."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head with a hum. "Very."

The projection flickers to life again and the film begins to roll. It starts with their pasts, but depicts a jumble of all the lies and cover stories she's given to her friends and relatives. In the film, Rose meets the Doctor in his current form, the only regeneration that has met the people in her life, besides her mum and Mickey, and they travel together in a dark blue caravan all over the world.

At first, Rose has trouble focussing on anything but the actor chosen for her part. The woman twirls her earring, nibbles her lip, and picks at her nails, shining a light at all of Rose's nervous tics and habits. She frowns at the film and shifts in her seat, pouting.

"Kinda weird, don't you reckon? Seeing yourself like that. Only...not."

"Yeah."

"Do I really fidget like that?"

"Weell…"

She shakes her head, gets over herself and starts watching the characters interact instead. The film delivers on the promised love story. After dancing around each other for one third of the film, they finally kiss after a traumatising event. The audience sighs and applauds. Rose sinks down a little in the settee and blushes, cheeks heating up until they burn when film Doctor undresses his Rose and they make love under a moonlit sky. The real Doctor sits still; the arm around her relaxed, his breathing and posture as well, and she fights the urge to pinch him in the side for being such an unaffected tosser.

When the film picks up the pace and the characters land in a London full of ghosts a sunny summer's day, Rose starts to wiggle her toes in her trainers. She curls her hair around her fingers, bites her tongue, and bounces her leg, releasing nervous energy in new ways.

"You don't have to watch this, Rose. You can sleep. I'll hold–"

"No. M'fine. M'all right. Got any almonds left?"

When Samuel turns out to be Mickey, and when her parents reunite, she whoops and sniffles along with the audience; however, when the action ramps up and the end grows near, she stiffens, unable to tear her eyes off the film. Her mouth turns dry from her shallow, rapid breaths and she squeezes the Doctor's hand so hard she can feel her nails digging into his flesh. He doesn't make a peep, doesn't try to slink out of her iron grip, and she doesn't snap out of it until film Doctor tricks his Rose and sends her away.

"What the hell, Doctor!" she yells and pulls away from him to whack him on the arm.

"I'm sorry, Rose. And you can scold me all you want later, but–"

"You just sent me away?! You just tricked me? Again?!" she shouts, tears welling up in her eyes. "At the game station you at least had the decency to give me a bloody kiss on the forehead, but now you just–"

"Rose, please focu–"

"And you had the gall to yell at me! That's the last I'm gonna see of you, then? Before I die? You yelling at me and being angry with me? When I just want to be with you?" She groans and slams her fist in the armrest, wiping her cheeks with her other hand. "I'm so mad at you right now I can't even look at you."

"Rose, _please_. I need to see this," he says, tone clipped and controlled.

She lets out a ragged breath. "I don't wanna see. I don't wanna see how I die. I don't wanna know." Her face scrunches up, a few tears falling down her cheeks. "Doctor, I don't wanna die."

He pulls her in, cradling the back of her head, and she burrows her face into his chest. Although his arm covers her right ear, and the left is pressed against him, she can still hear the desperation in the actor's voice when he screams her name. The earlier projection of the broken-hearted Doctor walking down the white room alone rolls in her mind and she cries against him until she's soaked through his shirt. He shifts their positions to tug her up in his lap, and he holds her close, swaying from side to side to the sounds of the credits rolling and the sobs tearing in her chest.

* * *

.

* * *

Rose sighs and turns away from the simulated view of the galley window displaying a collapsing nebula, watching the Doctor stir his tea.

"They were in love," she says into her cuppa before taking a sip.

"Well… Your whole family, except your mum, thinks we're...together. And, I suppose, it makes the story more compelling." He chuckles and shakes his head, bringing his tea to his lips. "You humans and your fascination for roma–"

"Really?" She slams the mug on the table, warm liquid splashing out of it. "So we're not, then? Is that what you're saying?"

He sighs. "Rose–"

"No! Don't you 'Rose' me." She huffs and gets up from her chair, grabbing the backrest for support as she talks. "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die and never know what it's like to… I can't believe you sent me away without even–" She chokes out a sob, touching her aching chest. "Don't-don't you love me?"

He stares at her, eyes glossy, then the mask falls, the one he's been wearing ever since they snuck out of the theatre before the real footage of the two of them started rolling. His chin quivers, eyebrows draw together and upwards, and he hurls himself out of the chair, rushing over to her and enveloping her in a hug.

"I'm scared." She clings to him, clutching the back of his suit jacket, snuggling her face into his chest. "It's the void, isn't it? I get sucked into it. Does it hurt? Will I… He said it was like hell. The Doctor in the film. Is that real? Did they make that up for the film or is that really what you'll say? Is it hell, Doctor?"

The Doctor squeezes her tighter and noses her hair. "Oh, Rose. I wish I could change it. I'd do _anything_ to change it, but…"

"I know." She tilts her head up to look at him through the watery blur of her eyes, bringing her hands to his cheeks. She blinks to clear her vision, tears spilling over and running down her face, and smiles. "Doctor… Be with me."

He draws in a shaky breath. "We can't. Even if… I'll have to remove this whole day, Rose."

"So?"

"You won't remember it. It'll be like it never happened."

"But _you_ can, right? You can just block it. Remember it when it's safe for you again. You'll have-you'll have that. Those memories. Of me. If you…" She licks her lips and swallows. "I would've wanted that. Don't you want that?"

"I…"

She sags a little when she breathes out her disappointment. "It's okay, Doctor. I get it. Then just do it, all right? 'Cause I don't want to feel like this anymore. Everything _hurts_. Just remove this day. I can't take it anymore. Just– You gotta promise me one thing first."

"Anything."

"Find someone else." She smiles through her tears and brushes his cheekbones with her thumbs. "A new best mate. I don't want you to be alone. And… Just 'cause I know I won't say it. I… I love you. So much. And I–"

He crushes his lips to hers, one arm curled around her back to dip her, one hand cupping her cheek to angle her head. Her breath hitches and it takes her a moment before she moves her mouth over his, tongue darting out to taste him. She rakes her nails up the back of his head and pushes herself up on tiptoes, pressing her body as close as she can and delving into his mouth. His tongue twists with hers in slow, gentle moves, tasting of tea with a splash of milk, sweetened with too much honey. He sucks on her tongue, her lips, trails his own over her chin, her jawline, down her neck until he reaches her collarbone. Her head lolls back when he nibbles, and she lets out a long moan, grinding her hips against him. He pulls away, panting.

"Bedroom," he says, scooping her up in his arms when she nods, darting down the corridor.

Hours later, when they lie snuggled up in his bed, nosing each other's flushed skin, too boneless and sated to get up, the Doctor trails his lips from her mouth to her earlobe, his warm breath tickling her.

"I can't give you up yet," he whispers.

"Then don't."

"Rose…"

"I'm serious. Don't. Let's take a few days, yeah?"

"Postpone the inevitable."

"Yeah." She brushes his damp fringe from his eyes and kisses his nose. "Just a few days."

* * *

.

* * *

He learns how to make her come in two minutes with his tongue and fingers, and how to keep her on the brink for so long that she begs for release; she learns how to speed down at just the right moment to make him last a little bit longer, and how to make him come so hard he can't make a sound. They make love in the garden under the simulated starry sky, shag on the sofa in the middle of watching a film, fuck on the kitchen table whilst waiting for the potatoes to roast, and have lazy morning sex before the fogginess of sleep has fully dispersed.

After four days, during dinner, he gives her a look, tired, devastated and so very old, and she nods. They undress on their way to his room and fall into bed together, bodies hot and lips swollen from kisses, for one last embrace.

* * *

.

* * *

They materialise in the courtyard forty minutes after past Rose left her bedroom. After sneaking into the flat, Rose changes back into her jimjams and curls up under the covers. The Doctor slips out of his coat and crawls into bed with her, curling an arm around her waist and tugging her close to capture her lips. After a final, long, slow kiss, he breaks free and places his fingers on her temples, looking at her with tired eyes set in an expressionless mask.

"Ready?"

"No." She laughs. "Not think I'll ever be, but... One more thing."

"What?"

"Can you… Like do something? Block your memories but put a thought into your head that giving in and shagging Rose might be a good idea, after all? Suppose… I just… I don't want it to end. Not yet. I want our last...months? Weeks? Days even? I want them to be...us. Together."

"Hm…" He nudges her nose with his. "How could I say no to that?"

She grins. "No idea."

"I'll remove your memories, now. And then I'll go back to the TARDIS to clean up after us and block mine. Can't do it here. And then I'll come back and wake you up. Okay?"

"Okay. Doctor?" She smiles at him, letting her feelings shine through her eyes. "I love you."

He smiles back and nods. "Quite right, too," he says, and the world falls away.

* * *

.

* * *

Something tugs at Rose's toe. She kicks. Something yelps and grumbles. She grumbles too and turns on her side, pulling the covers over her head. Her mattress dips as something crawls into bed with her and tugs the covers down, poking her in the face.

"Rooooose," the Doctor whispers, pressing a finger against the tip of her nose. "Roooooose." He pinches her cheek. "Wake up."

"Go away or I'll bite your finger off."

"You're in a mood." He huffs and lies down next to her on his back, crossing his arms behind his head. "I'm bored."

"Then go on a trip or something."

"I don't wanna go alone. Where's the fun in that?"

"What do you usually do when I'm asleep?"

"Oh, little of this, little of that."

"Yeah? Do that, then."

"But… It's so quiet without you there."

"Are you trying to tell me I snore really loudly? Echoing through the TARDIS. Keeping you company whilst you tinker."

"No…" He sighs and rolls over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. "I-I miss you."

"You do?"

He nods.

"In what way? I'm sleeping. Not like I keep you company or anything."

"I always miss you when you're not with me," he says, caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

"What?"

He draws in a deep breath and exhales before swallowing. "I'm tired of waiting, Rose."

She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them again, blinking at him. "What?"

A smile blooms on his face and she can't help but grin back, although too many thoughts and emotions whirl around in her chest and mind for her to understand what's happening.

"I'm tired of waiting for the right moment. Aren't you?" he asks and her eyes flutter close when he moves in to kiss her.

* * *

.

* * *

They get two months together. Two months of ridiculous happiness, and so much shagging she can barely walk straight, before the Battle of Canary Wharf happens. She doesn't remember anything from those four days he removed from her. Not until she sits in the jeep with her mum, Pete, and Mickey on their way to a small seaside inn in Norway, after saying goodbye to the Doctor on Bad Wolf Bay. The shock from the flood of memories crashing into her mind paralyses her for the entire drive, and Mickey has to lead her to the hotel room. A kip and two coffee cups later, she snaps out of it and begins to talk, explaining to her worried family why she had such a reaction. She leaves out the intimate details, but shares enough for them to understand.

Once she's finished, Pete clears his throat and pushes off the wall he's been leaning on. He sighs and moves closer to her, crouching by the bed she's lying on.

"Rose… I have something to tell you." His grave expression sends a chill down her back and she shudders. "I would've told you sooner, but I wasn't allowed to." He looks at her mum and Mickey, giving them a tight smile. "Can I have a moment alone with her, please?"

Mickey and Jackie hug her before they leave, and Rose snuggles up in the bed, a blanket wrapped around her whilst she waits for Pete to open his mouth. He paces for a bit, scratches his balding head and drawing in breaths as if to speak, but exhaling each one in a sigh.

"Oh, for the love of– Can you please just tell me already?"

"Of course, sweetheart." He sighs one last time and steps closer to her bed. "I had a moment alone with him. With the Doctor, that is. At Torchwood. And he told me something…"

"Go on," she says, sitting up in bed and leaning forward.

"He'd known for a while that you'd leave. But he didn't know _how_. Until he saw that film. Saw you sucked into the void. He told me he could see that the separation was a… He called it a fixed point in time. But your death wasn't, Rose. You didn't have to die. So, he took a chance. You would've died that day, if it weren't for him. He saved you."

She swallows, eyes filling with tears, skin prickling. "What d'you mean?"

"He knew. The whole time. He didn't block his memories."

"What?"

"It came to him a few weeks before the battle, so he went back whilst you slept, and checked out the real footage. To make sure exactly where you'd fall. That's… That's how I knew where to jump. Where to catch you. He told me where to stand, when to jump."

"What?"

Pete cups her cheek, smiling. "He saved you, love."

She wipes her clogged up nose, her teary eyes, mouth falling open when she gasps for breaths to stave off the sobs threatening to burst out of her. Pete joins her on the bed, holding her close and calling out for Jackie to come back. They end up huddled together on the bed, all four of them, hugging and crying, with Rose babbling incoherent sentences about what's happened until she falls asleep.

* * *

.

* * *

"He said he would remove my memories, but he didn't. He must've been hoping he'd find a way, yeah? He wanted me to remember," Rose says over breakfast. She takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces when she finds it cold. "Something he said on the beach triggered it, right?"

"He told me not to tell you," Pete says. "That's all I know. He said you had to get your memories back in the right order, the right way."

She smiles. "Yeah. Thanks, dad."

"What do you think it was, then?" Jackie asks. "What did he say?"

Staring out the window at the boats bobbing on the waves, the seagulls soaring, the sunlight breaking through the thick mass of clouds, Rose hums and nods to herself. "Quite right, too. Bloody git." She props her elbows on the table and leans over it, looking into Pete's eyes. "What did he say exactly? About fixed points."

"That the separation was fixed, but your death wasn't."

"Did he say anything at all about the future? Like, dunno, if the separation had to stick, you know what I mean?"

"I don't think he did. But the walls are closed, Rose."

"Yeah, what of it? We've slipped through the cracks before. Reckon I could do it again. If we can find a safe way to do it."

"You're going back?" Jackie asks, touching her belly.

"Yeah. I've got Torchwood, don't I? Got those jumpers. We have technology to use. We just have to build something better. Some sort of travelling machine that won't collapse everything. Something that can shoot me across the void."

Mickey grins. "Like a dimension cannon."

Rose laughs. "Yeah! Just put a helmet on my head, stick me inside, and lit the fuse. 'Cause you know what? The separation might be fixed, but we can still be reunited. Didn't say anything about that." She finishes her cold coffee and wipes her mouth. "I don't care about impossible. I'm gonna find my way back home."

* * *

**the end**


End file.
